Dire Consequences
by Blimey oO
Summary: A character reflects on his life and reaches the conclusion that everything's to be blamed on Harry, his darker side getting the best of him.


Disclaimer: Ahem, I'd like to take this opportunity to say JK Rowling the great, mighty, wonderful and so on owns all HP world. The plot is mine though, and I'm quite proud of it. *cough* ok. So, read, the character's identity won't be revealed until the end so happy guessing. Oh yes, I forgot, JK's a genius too :D And now on to the reason I've registered here. Read my story! 

Dire Consequences 

I opened my eyes, staring at the dark velvet curtains that surrounded my bed, wrapping and protecting me from the outside world. Sighing lightly, as though bored, I peeked at my leather watch which showed a couple of minutes past 2 o'clock in the morning. Straining my ears, I caught the snoring sounds of my sleeping dormitory mates, probably dreaming of Quidditch and whatever nonsense passed through their minds. I almost snorted at that thought, reminding myself of how much I hated a particular boy, not only for his darned luck, Quidditch talent and fame but for other darker reasons as well, ones he knew the Boy Who Lived could not have avoided even if he wanted to. Reasons concerning my parents and their current state. 

Still aware of my friends' snores, I carefully sat up and opened the soft curtains, barely touching them, graciosly, as though I had been training all my life to open curtains in such delicacy. I had some talent. I did. But I have never showed it to anyone. Of course, I've kept it secret for special reasons. Reasons I wasn't aware of until last year, when Mad Eye Moody had been caught in the act, and rightfully given the Dementor's Kiss. 

Rightfully...Pah!, I snorted in disgust. Crouch Jr. had had a belief, he knew what he was doing. He had visions. Visions of a new future to come, a new page to be turned. No matter what happened, he would sacrifice his life, his own blood and that of so many others if required so that his and only his ideas prevailed. Although the I should hate him now, I could shake off this forbidden admiration I felt toward him. 

Crouch Junior knew he would be remembered whereas others would be despicably thrown to the side. 

And so he will. 

Lord Voldemort had risen again, and was on his way to murder Harry Potter, to fulfill his former task left uncompleted 14 years ago. In such a refined way, with talented, utterly deadly words chosen to fashion his speech, the boy who lived's soul would be crushed, hurt, desperate for a miracle, his own freezing fear ripping his Gryffindor heart apart. He could almost hear it, the sound of the sound, happy forgiving heart cracking, like the purest crystal falling on the floor, glassy fragments spilling his dying blood on the icy windows of the Great Hall. 

Smirking, my unrevealed personality coming to view, I silently, with the same surprising grace of before, left the 5th year's Dormitory, passing through the Common Room, not even glancing at the burning flames in the fireplace. For me, everything had lost its vigor, brilliance and warmth to be replaced with anger, guilt and eternal iciness which would never melt from its stony unbreakable state. 

Reaching the great Oak Doors of the castle, I soundlessly pushed them open, feeling like a prince from a different time, as I stood out in the night's cold breeze. 

It was a clear, cloudless night, all stars were twinkling, like Dumbledore's eyes did when he was especially happy. It made me want to repaint the sky's dark ceiling, extinguishing all stars from sight. How dare they reflect his fond eyes in such a disrespecting manner? Dumbledore, the one who always protected Harry, who always cared for Harry, who never seemed to notice *me*. The one you called the wise, the strong, the fair. He could've helped others as well, but did he? No. Dumbledore just sat back letting lessers deal with their own troubles. 

I balled my hands to tight fists, dimly aware of the pain it was causing me, my thoughts on my own parents. For them. For them I longed for revenge. 

Thoroughly depressed, I met the full moon's patient gaze. Realising it soothed me, bitter rage cursed my veins. Moonlight shone on my pale face, my blond fair hair turning silvery blue, my grey eyes silvery as well, even more than usual, reflecting the moon stubbornly, as if it made me feel stronger for an unknown reason. Deep down I knew it was Lupin's image, not that he was sneaking around spying on me, but he had made a difference in his life back in 3rd year. He didn't ignore me like others did, like McGonagall did. Lu-. No, I corrected myself, he's the one teacher who gained my respect, Professor Lupin was fair and kind to all, no matter if we were Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs or even....the mighty Slytherins. I was proud of that house, no accurate reasoning why, but I was. Maybe because they always achieved what they wanted, maybe because Harry despised the House. Or maybe just because it was plain and simple Slytherin. 

But even Professor Lupin's attention was stolen from me. And once again, blasted *Harry Potter* was the responsible for it. Shaking, I reminded myself of our 3rd year's episodes. Had Harry not intervened, Professor Lupin would've not revealed his true identity as a werewolf to Hogwarts, and darn Sirius Black could've continued his job, seeing to Harry's long awaited death. 

Turning my colorless face, I regarded quietly the lake's peacefulness, trying to discover the reason why it was placed there. To relieve me from my sinner's desires? Unlikely. To ease the never ceasing craving for revenge? No. Nothing never was meant for me, everything belonged to others, everyone paid attention to others, no one really cared for me. Negligence. A Dementor in disguise, I realised in a strange awe. Penetrating negligence, it reminded me greatly of betrayal. 

Betrayal. Like Ginny's. Another victim of Potter's unworthy fame. Fuming inwardly, I had discovered just how much she was addicted to the Boy. Everyone knew. Everyone was just like her, undying reverence towards him, he, Harry Potter the greatest. 

Something would happen tonight. I knew it, I felt it. You-Know-Who was not near, though he saw it coming like a ghost ship sailing toward him. Smiling for myself again, I reached inside my pocket. No need for Trelawney's unaccurate predictions to know what I'm up to tonight. 

My last sane thoughts returned to Ginny. And Lord Voldemort, or more precisely Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had explained the whole unpleasant affair to the students the day we were supposed to go back to our homes. Many were relieved, others were frightened to death and few, specifically saying, the Slytherins and I, were sneering inwardly at Harry, wondering why the dratted Basilisk couldn't have just bitten his head off and get it done with. 

I had tried to recover T.M. Riddle's Diary but apparently it had been disposed of the last evening for security reasons, or so said Dumbledore. After retrieving the Diary, I would be able to research Riddle's personality, maybe even change my own to fit Ginny's wishes, for, I'd soon discovered, she had somehow had a crush for that little guy in the book. He should hate Riddle too but instead, his hatred towards Harry grew, for he was crushing a loving soul's heart, Ginny's soul. So fragile, it seemed that if we touched it, its petals would fall on the ground and rotten, killing Ginny's happiness and joy for life. So, whatever pained Harry for his unthought acts was welcome. 

I had started marching towards the Gryffindor Commons already, quietly sneaking up to the 5th year's dormitory, a maniac smile playing on my mouth. A decision had been reached, Harry's fate sealed not by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named but by my, a mere student's, hand. 

Quietly pushing the doors aside, I tried to find Harry's bed, my sense of observation not failing me: On a wooden cupboard stood beside a long stick of wood a tiny black dragon, a Hungarian Horntail if he's memory wasn't mistaken, the one he had to pass through last year. That mere thought another pang of envy through his mind. 

Creeping on the edge of his bed, I pulled the curtains aside briskly, only to shock myself, almost having to scream. Harry had disappeared. Disappeared, I repeated to myself again, unease almost blinding me with my surprise. What if he had known? What if he's called a teacher? 

"What are you doing here?", came a boy's voice from behind forcing meto spin around so hastily, I almost fell to the ground. Seeing a pair of shining green eyes staring confused at me, perhaps even a bit angry at the person was about to disturb his peaceful slumber, I felt himself calm down a bit. Enough not to let my expression reveal my anxiety. I was decided, i wouldn't elt the chance slip through my fingers. 

Harry's own expression showed something I couldn't quite read. All friendship he directed at Weasley and Granger had been stripped from its place. What was that glimmer in his eyes? Pity? 

"I asked you a question, why don't you answer me?," Harry had repeated, stealing me from my curiosity and questions, his voice calm, steady, not dynamic like when his marauding mind was set loose, desperate for a new prank. Harry didn't smile either which might've been a good idea since it would only make the pure-blood in my veins boil. 

"Does it matter?," I tried to avoid the question, starting to make his way for the next four poster. Harry narrowed his eyes considerably, leaving his hiding place in the shadows and reaching for my arm. 

"It does, I've been sensing something coming from you, something utterly different, what's happened?" Harry demanded to know, his steal grip pinning me to the place. Of course, Potter not only was much more famous than me, he had to be stronger as well. But is he? Can he evade my decisions, the plans I had for tonight? Will he escape like he did from Voldemort? Is he aware of how much I suffered because of him, the pain his acts caused me, what he's done to my parents? Maybe he would understand. I doubted it though. 

Remaining calm with paralyzing difficulty, I answered him politely, my voice as soft as possible, so that the other boys would not awake, spoiling tonight's for Harry unpredictable events: "What difference would it make if you actually knew? What ensures me you will be able to right your wrongs, what makes you think I've changed? What if I'm the same?" 

Double meaning words, I thought. I smiled inwardly again, Harry didn't understand me. He let go, not avoiding my eyes though, if possible, his stare had hardened considerably. I was wrong. He had indeed known then. I was not careful enough around him then. Shame. But if he's willing to continue... 

"For one thing, I'm sure your feelings toward me have changed drastically. Every time I look in your eyes, I get the feeling you're trying to decapitate me with you glare," Harry surveyed me from the corner of his eyes for he had turned to the cupboard where his wand lay. He was defenseless. But had gut instinct. I grinned maliciously, his instinct told him to run for his wand but his right sense cannot picture me, me of all people harming him. How naiv of him. 

"For another, I am innocent. I've no bloody idea what's been going on in your mind, I'm completely at sea." Harry continued, still getting closer to his wand, his eyes not leaving my figure once. My blood started to cook again. I had to stop him from reaching his wand at all costs. 

Before I could move though, a apparently meaningless word travelled through my skull. 

Innocent. 

Innocent. It made me want to put the Cruciatus Curse on the word, want to put all the blame on it. My parents were innocent, it had all happend after Harry defeated Voldemort. Harry,always bloody Harry James Potter. 

The other boy had noticed my shaking, stopping his steps immediately, quite concerned about me, what made me even more furious, a tidal wave of mixed feelings taking over my body, soul, intellect and common sense: "How can you speak of innocence in front of me? You! You ruined my entire life, I'm practically an orphan because of you! Hadn't you survived Voldemort's curse, they'd be beside me!" 

"What are you talking about?" Harry whispered barely believing his ears. That boy was accusing him of his parent's unhealing state. He himself had lost his parents because of Voldemort, "It was not my fault, I didn't know! I'm sorry for your parents but I had nothing to do with them!" 

I started fumbling with the long, silver blade inside my pocket. I had to finish this. I couldn't help it any longer. Harry's eyes opened wide in surprise, fear, rooted to the place, as I took it out of its hideout. Time had seemed to slow down, even to me as I skillfully placed the Dagger in Harry's chest, twisting it in suppressed pleasure, the pain visible on his face, his eyes moving from side to side in fear, as if the sight of a sunshine ray could save him. Finally they met mine slightly unfocused. He couldn't believe me, that much I could read from them. I had fallen to my kneens beside his trembling body, my dagger still in my clean hands, while his robes were drenched in blood. 

I felt ecstatic, his pain flowing through the dagger, transforming itself into sadistic delight like electricity, all my hatred cleansing itself. It felt like his spilt blood were the poison I carried inside myself, energy was failing Harry while I was alight with it. 

Harry's now pale face strained to tug at my robes, exhausted disappointment mixed with horror evident on it. He was paying for all his wrong steps, for his own guilt. He was evidently loosing all his strength, would be dead in less than a few seconds I realised, enjoying myself beyond reason. I was quite astound when he still managed to whisper indistinctly: 

"God, why...I" 

Smirking clearly so Harry could watch in his final dramatical moments, I leaned closer to his ear, forcing my weight on the dagger causing him much more visible pain and whispered softly, my old insane smile reflected in my voice: "Bear the consequences of surviving Harry Potter." 

Forcefully, I pulled the glimmering dagger from Harry's bleeding chest satisfied. The Boy had fallen on his back, green eyes serenely regarding me. 

"Neville, I-" 

Before he could finish though, evil words had come out from the killer's mouth, green light striking Harry painlessly in the chest. 

Indifferent to Harry's frightened look, Neville Longbottom disposed of the dagger with a clever flick of his wand and returned to bed, rather satisfied, as if a burden had been lifted off his back, only to be awoken 6 hours later by Ron Weasley's horrified scream. 

~*~

Well? What did you think? This is my all time first fic, I'm so happy! I like it greatly. I wanted to make theimpression that Draco Malfoy was the one narrating the story, don't know if I managed to pull it off. So, tell me in your reviews. I don't care if you flame me, just state your reasons. 

I've never read a fic in which Harry dies, I wanted to try it out, I have no idea how it will strike you. 

And..umm...I'm sorry if the layout's not right, I'm trying to adapt myself to FFN, so next time, I'll do better :D 

I'm sorry for stealing that last sentence from JK. I hadn't meant to :p, it just happend. ;) 


End file.
